


His Light

by Arlyshawk



Series: Lord and Lady of the Wood [3]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Romantic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 09:36:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4096009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arlyshawk/pseuds/Arlyshawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say wood elves love best the light of the stars, but Thranduil had experienced many types of light. The ones he loves best are the ones that are beside him, but just out of reach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Light

From the time he was a boy, his mother had been made of starlight. His father would look upon her with a great kindness and softness that Thranduil had never seen in him. The green of his eyes would turn to the color of spring grass and he would smile. A few times he thought his father was ill, but he heard his father laugh. It was a deep, rich sound that made him stop cold in his tracks. 

By the time he made it out of his majority, he had learned that it was his mother that made Oropher laugh so. In fact, he watched them one day. His mother would simply walk up to his father and then press her hands against his forearms and he would smile. It was a coy smile, at first unsure until he turned and saw the being of stars that his mother was. She was beautiful, Thranduil could not deny, hair made of molten silver and eyes that seemed kindled in Varda's hands. Oropher called her 'my star' when they were alone. And it was rare to hear the language of Thranduil's great grandmother fall from his father's mouth. It was not like Sindarin. No, it was poetic in nature. 

One day, he asked his father what the word were and his father's face became wistful. I melmë cuilenyava, melinyel, my son, he had said, Or the love of my life, I love you. And he had offered to teach him the language of his grandmother. 

Why do you say that? He had asked in his younger years. Nana does not know that language. 

There had been a glint of childishness in his father's eyes, She may not know it, but she can feel in, ion nîn. All elves can. Even those that did not see the light of the Two Trees like you and I. 

So Nana understands it, but does not on the same hand? The remark made his father smile and pat him on the shoulder. And he never knew that his mother lingered in the shadows of the eloquent pillars. 

Millenniums later, when his father was dead and his mother began to slowly descend into the circles of the world, he heard her. In the old crypts, he found her weeping upon his father's grave, hair as dark as stone and skin as pale as porcelain. She was not the vibrant star any longer, but dim and flickering. 

"My love, the love of my life," He had heard her say as she touched the carven epitaph on the tomb. She sighed, "Oh, Oropher…" 

"Nana…" He whispered, the phrase foreign and weighty on his tongue from years of disuse. She jerked up at the quiet tone of his voice and then looked upon him with her blue eyes, the eyes that had no equal. He knelt down beside her and took her into his arms and let her clutch him. "All will be well, Nana." 

His mother's fingers ran through his hair, gentle, soft, a memory of when he was young and terrified. Yet, it was not the same feeling. This time, it was she that was terrified while he was the calming presence, the one to wipe away the tears. "My little one, how you have grown…" He heard her whisper. 

"I am sorry, Nana. I… tried to save him." 

She shook her head, "There is no need to apologize, my son. War is never easy thing." 

"Feren warned him to not venture so far from the column, but…" His voice cracked the tiniest bit. "If I had been swifter, mayhaps I could have reached him." 

"No, ion nîn¸ all of us have our time in this world. It happened to be his time, that is all," She told him, though there was no smile in her voice. "Thranduil, I shall tell you this now. You are more your Adar than you shall ever realize. Never let that blind you to the world beyond." 

~.~.~ 

Coruwen was the sun. Warm and beckoning, something in which to bask in and never leave. Yet, she was also sun-fire - burning and inescapable. That bright fire, the fire that lived within her, singed away the nightmares that loomed over his shoulder. And they grew worse as time stormed on, bringing forth the image of his father buckling from atop of his horse before arrows tore through him. More than once he had awoken to her beckoning him back from the yawning void. 

And tonight was no different. He had dreamt of his old master at arms being beheaded by a orc berserker. Coruwen had woken him with a shake, the fear of his nightmares plainly written across her face. Under her gaze, he felt all the more bare despite the gentility that she gave him as he rested his head in her lap. Her fingers played across his forehead and over the point of his ear, the pads of her fingers lightly massaging his scalp as they went along. 

"I melmë cuilenyava, melinyel, Coruwen," He whispered and nestled his face against her leg. Her fingers stilled then, if only for a brief moment, before going back to his hair. He turned to look up at her. Tears were welling in her eyes, but she smudged them away with the back of her hand quick. He narrowed his eyes up at her, "Are.. you all right?" 

She nodded as he sat up, "I-It surprised me, nothing more." Her voice was fragile, shaking like brittle glass in a quake. 

"Your tears tell a far different tale," He pressed another tear away that slipped from her eyes. She had eyes like light dancing in the dark depths of the ocean, and they were fairer than any sapphire he had seen. Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed the tip of her nose and then her forehead. 

"Wherever did you learn that? I thought you learned little of the tongue of my people." 

He brushed his thumbs along her cheekbones, "My Adar taught me that phrase before I left to live with Gil-Galad." 

She gave him a soft smile and slid his hands from her face to her shoulders, "Tis a good phrase to know, my love." 

Her fingers toyed aimlessly with his, running across his knuckles and over the scars that were on the tops of his hands from learning how to be ambidextrous. He saw in the dim light of their room that pink had flushed on her cheeks and swirled up the column of her throat. 

With the utmost care, he pressed his lips against hers in a delicate manner he could muster through the still lingering fear that tried to shake him; Thranduil ran his fingers across the hollow of her throat and along her jaw. A tingle of happiness went through him when he heard her hum against his lips and wrap her arms around his neck. He pulled away from her, letting her kiss his cheekbones and his brow while he ran a finger over the fine lace neck of her gown. 

"More than you shall ever know," Coruwen echoed, a delicate memory of when the thought of never returning had crossed him. 

"Then perhaps you should teach me more," He gave her a soft smile in return to the one that lit up her face. Brushing away a strand of her hair, he kissed her lips softly once more. "Or so I hope." 

**Author's Note:**

> My Quenya is almost as rusty as my Sindarin is. Thranduil's mother I have named Lasseth, though I believe her name isn't mentioned in here. 
> 
> Kudos and Comments are always appreciated! :)


End file.
